


'The Effects of Cervical Restraint on the Appearance of my Boyfriend.' Working Paper.

by neveralarch



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Collars, M/M, POC Cecil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos and Cecil experiment with collars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'The Effects of Cervical Restraint on the Appearance of my Boyfriend.' Working Paper.

**Author's Note:**

> Contains collar kink, light pet play, makeouts, canon-typical weirdness and minor body horror. Let me know if you need details.

The collar was black, with a faint red sheen that Carlos could only see out of the corner of his eye. It appeared to be made of smooth leather, but it felt rough and scaly when Carlos' hesitating fingers brushed it. The dissonance didn't seem to bother Cecil, who kept turning it over and over in his hands, his face lit with unearthly delight. Carlos pushed his glasses up his nose, trying to get a better look at the collar, at the way its colors shifted under Cecil's touch, but it wouldn't come into focus. He could see Cecil's happy face, see the movement of his hands, but the collar was just a black smear in his vision, red highlights glinting around Cecil's fingertips.

Carlos took off his glasses, cleaned them methodically. This didn't make any appreciable difference, and Cecil was beginning to look _patient_ , so Carlos gave up on understanding the collar.

"Do you want me to put it on for you?" he asked.

Cecil's smile was slightly too wide to fit a proper human jaw. "Would you?"

Carlos took the collar from Cecil's hands, and watched as Cecil carefully unknotted his tie, carefully hung it from his tie rack, carefully closed the closet door. At some point during this procedure, he had unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, fully baring his neck for Carlos, and it seemed almost a shame to cover all of that smooth brown skin with the black (red?) collar. But that was what Carlos had come here to do, the reason why he was in Cecil's bedroom tonight, and Cecil was trembling with anticipation, eyes closed, taking calming breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth.

For a moment, Carlos imagined that he could hear and feel Cecil's heartbeat pulsing through him as he buckled the collar around Cecil's neck. That wasn't scientifically possible, of course. It was probably just Carlos' own heartbeat that he could hear, even if it didn't seem like it, even if this heartbeat was strange and alien and rattled Carlos' teeth in the back of his head. It was a quick, throbbing, excited beat, and it felt warm, though sounds couldn't project heat.

Carlos slipped two fingers under the collar, checking to make sure he hadn't tightened it too much. "Is this good?"

"It's perfect." Cecil's voice buzzed where Carlos' fingers pressed against his throat, and his eyes were fixed on Carlos' own. "Thank you."

Cecil had picked out the collar himself, at Night Vale's local adult store. Carlos had gone in with him, curiosity winning out against better judgment. The store had no outer signs, but its walls glowed with a bright alien light that revealed itself to be, once inside, the product of a giant spinning disco ball that glittered with colors that the human eye should not be able to perceive. It was a proper adult store, as far as Carlos could tell, with his admittedly limited experience. There was flavored lube, and lingerie, and a creeping tentacled thing behind the counter. The creeping tentacled thing was wearing eyeshadow, and it burbled a greeting to Cecil.

"Hello, Doris," Cecil had said. "Have you met Carlos? I'm sure you'll like him - everyone _adores_ Carlos."

Carlos held his hand out to shake, the instinct of countless introductions, but Cecil hastily pulled him back.

"We'll just be in aisle three," called Cecil, and then murmured into Carlos' ear, "try not to touch Doris. Your skin is too bronze and warm and perfect to be eaten away by acidic slime."

Carlos nodded thoughtfully, and made a few notes in the research journal that he kept in the pocket of his lab coat. Cecil politely ignored Carlos' use of forbidden writing implements. "Do you know Doris well?" asked Carlos. "I'm not asking for personal reasons, it's for my research."

Cecil flushed. "I- I'm not a _frequent_ customer, but you have to support local business. If you don't, you're locked in the Chamber of Commerce until you promise to meet your weekly shopping quota."

They walked past a shelf of dildos, a rack of bustiers, and a clear glass box filled to the brim with live mice, finally stopping in front of a display of collars.

It was astonishing, the number of collars you could buy to put on yourself or someone else. There were several thin, delicate ones, and a few thick, sturdy ones, and three that were linked together, meant to fit multiple necks.

"I guess you'll need some time to think about it," said Carlos, but Cecil was already reaching out for a heavy, matte black collar.

"Like I said, I've been here before." Cecil fidgeted with the collar, looking everywhere but at Carlos. "Of course I spent the amount of money mandated by the Chamber, but I also, well, you'd call it window shopping except there _aren't_ any windows-" 

Carlos nodded, and Cecil kept talking, fast and a little higher-pitched than normal, the way he would get when things had fallen off-script.

"And, you know, I didn't have anyone to buy it _with_ before, but I kept looking at it, and, really, this model is very high quality for an extremely low price, and it's one size fits all, which, I mean, sometimes that actually means 'one size fits some mutant guy with a tiny neck,' but in this case I believe they used mutant guys with a _range_ of neck sizes to test the prototype, and-"

"Do you need to try it on?" asked Carlos, to try and stop the flow of words.

"Oh," said Cecil, and stared fixedly at his feet. "Um, no. That is, I did. Already. A few months ago. I was thinking of you and- I know we weren't even dating back then, but I, um, forward planning, and, I-" Cecil bit his lip, and slowly covered his face with one hand.

Carlos appreciated the way Cecil physically telegraphed his terminal embarrassment when it was becoming too much of a problem. At first Carlos hadn't been sure how to react to actual real-life face-palming, but weeks of dating and a lot of trial and error had proven that the best way to respond was with physical contact and lots of reassurance.

Carlos reached out and patted Cecil's shoulder. "It sounds like you've put a lot of thought into this," he said. "And since you know more about the subject than I do, I defer to your judgment. Let's get it."

Cecil peeked up through his fingers. "Get it? Right now?"

Carlos peeled Cecil's hand off of his face, twined their fingers together. "Right now."

"But romantic decisions should be made together," said Cecil, in his pronouncing voice. "Compromise is the savior of relationships, and if you wanted a different collar I could almost definitely change my mind about this one."

Carlos looked down at where Cecil was holding the black collar in one white-knuckled hand. Then he looked up at Cecil's face, which was fixed in what was probably supposed to be a grimace of compromise.

"That's okay," Carlos said. "You've picked it out, it's your collar. I can choose the leash."

"The leash?" Cecil's fingers twitched in Carlos' grasp, and Carlos cursed himself. Jumping to conclusions, as if that was sound scientific practice. Cecil wanted a collar, yes. Did Cecil want a leash? Not enough data. Collars and leashes were correlated, yes, but Carlos should have asked instead of assuming.

"Cecil, I have to apologize-" he began, but this was as far as he got before Cecil was dragging him over to a rotating rack of leashes.

"Get one that goes with the collar," said Cecil, breathlessly.

Everything goes with black, thought Carlos, but something glinted red in his periphery. He passed on the bright fuchsia leash with orange stripes and chose a black one instead.

Cecil had paid for his collar, and Carlos had paid for the leash, both in cash because apparently Doris ate the magnetic strips off of credit cards. (Carlos discreetly noted this down in his research journal.) Doris had burbled something at Cecil that had made him blush, and he hadn't stopped blushing when Carlos had dropped him off at the station. 

Carlos hadn't listened to the show that night, because he'd decided it was better for his illusions of privacy if he didn't know what Cecil was saying about him after big events like a date or a trip to the adult store. But when he went to pick up dinner at Big Rico's, the woman who took his money told him that Cecil had been very subtle, just opening the broadcast by saying "tell your loved ones about your deepest desires, listeners! See how they react. Maybe they will scream in horror. Maybe they will threaten to call the police. But maybe, just maybe, they will pat your back and say 'let's do it!' I hope so, dear listeners. I hope you are as lucky as I am."

It had been strange, the way the woman at Big Rico's Pizza was able to remember everything that Cecil had said, and repeat it all in Cecil's voice. Carlos had made some recordings, and then left when the woman began to praise Carlos' hair.

Now it was three days later, and Cecil kept touching the collar around his neck, as if he couldn't believe that it was really there.

"It's been a long time since I dated someone who was so... open to experimentation." Cecil had a quirk to his lips which Carlos had learned to recognize as his 'look, Carlos, look, I made a science pun' expression. "My last boyfriend," continued Cecil, "well, he thought that kink was a government plot to control our sex lives."

"That seems a bit ridiculous," said Carlos. Was the collar getting brighter, more red? He couldn't tell.

"I know," exclaimed Cecil. "It's like - obviously! Who cares! What's the _point_ of fighting the powers that be, just in order to have increasingly-dull vanilla sex which is further ruined by your unwillingness to let me be on top, Ste- uh, I mean, unnamed ex-boyfriend."

Carlos tried to look understanding. His fingers itched for a pencil, but he suspected that taking a break to update his research journal would be frowned on. He tried to make a mental note instead: 'Night Vale government-sponsored kink scene? Poss. co-authorship opportunities with sexologists, good for demonstrating interdisciplinary qualities to department.'

"And my previous ex said that dogs didn't exist and I shouldn't pretend to be an imaginary creature."

"But there are dogs everywhere in Night Vale," said Carlos. "Pets, strays, puppy infestations of office buildings."

"Exactly! They're not like _cars_ or _mountains_ or other urban legends." Cecil handed Carlos the leash he'd picked out, a black length of suspiciously-moist cord. "How do you want me? Should I be wearing less clothing? I could put on my best furry pants, or-"

"Not the furry pants," said Carlos, quickly. Fashion was mostly a closed book to Carlos, but he thought Cecil looked much better as-is than he ever did in his more 'dressy' clothes. Cecil was still business-casual from working at the station, though his shirt was a little rumpled from taking off his tie and rolling up his sleeves. He looked tired, but happy, content, the collar a thick black (possibly red) band across his neck.

"This is great." Carlos smiled at Cecil. "Just let me take off your shoes."

He put the leash in his pocket, then knelt down and undid Cecil's laces, helped him step out of the smart-yet-affordable oxfords. Cecil's hands settled on Carlos' shoulders, gently squeezing as Carlos pulled off Cecil's socks. Cecil wiggled his bare toes in the carpet, when he was done, and Carlos tried to ignore the spiders that crawled out of the shag and scurried away. He stood up and kissed Cecil, instead, just a light brush of lips.

"Can I ask you something?" said Cecil.

"Yes." Carlos rolled his eyes, because they'd been over this many times. "I keep telling you, Cecil, I don't mind if you touch my hair-"

"No, it's not that," said Cecil, though he did reach a hand out toward Carlos before he thought better of it. "I wouldn't want to interfere with your perfect, beautiful hair. Just- I think you should unbutton your shirt. If you wouldn't mind."

Carlos shrugged and started unbuttoning his shirt. He already felt underdressed, his lab coat hanging up next to Cecil's front door and his hiking boots hidden in Cecil's oven so that the faceless old woman wouldn't borrow them like she had last week. It had been a hot day in Night Vale, it was always hot in Night Vale except for when it was freezing cold, so Carlos was wearing cargo shorts and a short-sleeved button-down, and his skin was itchy with drying sweat.

It wasn't, Carlos thought, a particularly attractive look. But as soon as Carlos undid the last button, Cecil reached out and hugged him, bending so that he could rub his cheek against Carlos' chest.

"All of your body hair is perfect," said Cecil, voice drifting into a quieter and lower register. "Hello, Carlos' chest hair. You are _so_ soft."

Carlos could feel his cheeks heating from the praise, and he pulled Cecil up to kiss him again, harder this time. Cecil's arms tightened around him, bare arms and shirtsleeves encircling Carlos and pressing against his skin, pulling them closer together. 

"I really appreciate how you don't ooze," mumbled Cecil. "I know that oozing is a normal aspect of humanity and that we need to learn to accept all facets of our loved ones, and I also know that if you oozed it would probably be the best, most perfect ooze I had ever seen and I wouldn't mind at all. But I'm still glad you don't ooze - it's so messy."

"I'm glad I don't ooze too," said Carlos. "Ready to start?"

Cecil let go of him so that he could touch the collar again, his fingers running over the buckle and darting along the edge. "Whenever you are."

Carlos took the leash back out of his pocket and looked at it. He wasn't sure if the moisture on his palms was sweat, or if it was seeping out of the suspiciously-moist leash. "Just to make sure we're on the same page," he said, "you're going to pretend to be a dog? And you want me to tell you what to do?"

Cecil stopped touching the collar, and his smile became more hesitant. "Only if you want to. I mean, I know we discussed this already, and I already filed the paperwork and negotiation transcripts with the Sheriff's Secret Police, but there's always time to send them an amendment or even a cancellation form-"

"Shh," said Carlos. He reached out and brushed a hand over Cecil's head, stroking him, feeling the short fuzz of Cecil's close-cropped and thinning hair. "Shh. I was just checking. This isn't- You know this isn't something I've done before, Cecil."

Cecil leaned into him, turning to rub his nose against Carlos' palm. "I know," he said. "And I really appreciate that you're willing to try this for me, and I promise I'll repay the favor-"

"This isn't a favor," corrected Carlos, and realized that it was true. Cecil looked _right_ in a collar, like he was someone that Carlos could keep and care for, rather than an enthusiastic citizen of a terrifying town which could not, scientifically, exist.

"Maybe," said Cecil, " _maybe_ we could trade, right, like tonight you keep me on a leash and I curl up at your feet and you call me a good boy, and then next week you can wear your lab coat and nothing else and be the super sexy scientist who seduces me with seismology. If that's what you're into."

"I'll think about it." Carlos was mostly interested in what Cecil thought was hot, rather than what Cecil thought that Carlos thought was hot. "You want me to call you a good boy?"

"Um." Cecil twitched, like he wanted to look away from Carlos but was forcing himself not to. His eyes hadn't left Carlos' face since he had buckled on the collar. "Um, yes? If, I guess, if I've earned it?"

Carlos stroked Cecil's head again, and clipped the leash to the collar. He wasn't entirely sure that he understood what they were doing, but he trusted Cecil to speak up if he was doing something wrong and he'd looked up some articles on dog training so he at least had a basic grasp of the different commands you could give. He tried to think about it this way - it probably wouldn't go any more wrong than any other kind of date-night activity in Night Vale, so the chance of casualties was present but not especially high.

"Down, boy," said Carlos, and Cecil fell to his knees with a thump, his eyes still fixed on Carlos' face. Carlos winced. "Did that hurt? Be more careful next time."

"It's fine," said Cecil, though he rubbed at his knees. "Was that good?"

"Points for speed, I guess." Carlos shrugged. Cecil looked unhappy about that, which was puzzling until Carlos remembered what they were supposed to be doing. "Oh," he said. "Yes, Cecil, that was good. Good boy."

Cecil beamed, and Carlos could almost see his tail wag. Imagination or hallucination? Maybe he should clean his glasses again, or- no. It probably didn't matter. 

They could stay in the bedroom, curl up together in Cecil's sheets and make out, but that didn't seem like enough. With the leash in his hands, Carlos was feeling an urge to _go_ somewhere, but he wasn't sure where. He ran a hand through his hair, trying not to be distracted by Cecil's little gasp. The living room? There was an armchair in the living room, where he could sit with Cecil and think about what to do next. Yes.

"Come on, heel." Carlos turned and tugged at the leash. Cecil followed on hands and knees, like a well-trained dog who wouldn't dream of letting a leash go taut. 

There was a moment of hesitation when they reached the staircase and Carlos thought that maybe he should tell Cecil to stand up so that he wouldn't accidentally fall on his way to the living room. But then Cecil was pushing past him and surging down the stairs, limbs flowing in a way that suggested his knees and elbows had multiplied. Carlos hurried after him.

"Are you double-jointed?" he asked. "I hadn't noticed before."

"Quintuple-jointed." Cecil stretched his arms, making worrying popping noises. "I try not to make a _thing_ out of it, I know it's not polite to show off."

"I'd love to do some x-rays, if you have time tomorrow." Carlos' mind was already titling the publication - 'Abnormal Joint Construction in Small Town Radio Professionals,' maybe he could send it to the _American Journal of Physical Anthropology_ if the reviewers would believe the write-up and not ask too many questions.

Cecil moved slightly, making the clip of the leash jingle against the ring of the collar, and Carlos remembered that he was sort of in the middle of something.

He walked into the living room, Cecil only a few feet behind him, and settled into the armchair. Cecil put his hands on armrest, like he was going to clamber up into Carlos' lap.

"No," said Carlos, because Cecil was supposed to be a dog at the moment. "You're not allowed on the furniture."

Cecil whined, but sat at Carlos' feet instead, head resting against his knee.

What did you do with your boyfriend when he was pretending to be a dog? Carlos knew he should have planned this out better, but he'd been so busy, there were so many potential publication opportunities in this town, and- well, it had been awkward to think about. Carlos had never had a dog of his own. His Abuelita had been a big dog lover, with three or four little yappy dachshunds around her house all the time, but Carlos' mama was a little allergic and easily annoyed, so there were never any animals in _her_ house. Except for Carlos' fish, and you didn't really do anything with fish except watch them swim around and feed them and then dissect them when they died.

Cecil was fidgeting with the collar again, and Carlos stroked his head to calm him. 

"Something to say?" he teased. "Can dogs talk?"

"Usually only in Armenian," said Cecil. "And, I have to say, my Armenian is extremely poor. I _guess_ I could try to bark, but-"

"We'll just pretend," said Carlos, hurriedly. After the bird watching incident, he never wanted to hear Cecil try to imitate animal noises ever again.

What could you do with a dog? Sit around the house and pat him on the head, check. Play tug of war or wrestle - probably not a good idea. Cecil tended to forget himself during even sexy wrestling and go for the throat. Staying in didn't feel right, anyway. Carlos still wanted to move, to walk around, to take Cecil for a walk, yes, that was it, a walk.

Not that Carlos could really do that with Cecil, not even in Night Vale. If they went outside like this, Carlos pulling Cecil along by his lead, the black (red) collar prominent on his throat, well, surely the neighbors would take a break from their busy and occasionally horrific lives in order to talk.

But there was something about the thought of it that made Carlos' breath catch, made his free hand clutch at the armrest. Cecil would want to stop and say hello to all of Night Vale's residents, like he normally did, making Carlos hover (not literally, but somewhat impatiently) behind him while he caught up on people's lives and delayed Carlos' important scientific tests. But this time Cecil would obediently follow at Carlos' pace, awkwardly waving as they brushed past people on their way to the laboratory. And everyone would know that Cecil belonged to someone, to Carlos, that his effusive compliments were being returned with something raw and grasping and real, and-

"Something to say?" asked Cecil, a fond imitation of Carlos' previous tones.

"I'd like to go outside, just like this," said Carlos. He tried to make it sound seductive, this clumsy articulation of his own half-formed desires. "I'd like people to see-"

"People _can_ see," said Cecil. "The Sheriff's Secret Police watch everything from the hidden cameras in my fireplace."

"You don't have a fireplace," said Carlos. "Your house doesn't even have a chimney."

"Dear, sweet, logical Carlos." Cecil rubbed his cheek against Carlos' leg. "Look up."

Carlos looked up. There, in the ceiling, was an open fireplace. It was lit, but the fire made no noise and radiated no warmth. Ash fell from the fire sideways, to land in the grate, and the smoke was purple and yellow and faded gently away instead of filling the room. The mantel was made of spiked iron, and seemed to pulse like a living being.

"I never noticed that before," he said. The crackle of the flames was mesmerizing, even though technically there was no audible crackle.

"They came and installed it yesterday," said Cecil. "Apparently the reception from my washing machine was getting worse and worse, and they kept picking up baseball scores instead of my innermost secrets."

"How does that even work?" Carlos kept staring at the flames. There appeared to be something behind them, a black, beckoning void. "Do they make an appointment to install covert surveillance equipment, or do they just turn up in the dead of night and you wake up the next morning with a fireplace above your head?"

"It was part of my regular bi-weekly inspection." Cecil tugged at Carlos' hand. "Look down at me, please, Carlos. It's not safe to spend much time watching the fireplace."

"It's hollow," mumbled Carlos. He felt a tearing vacuum in his chest, like his brain was being sucked down into his ribcage. "The flames, it's hollow, the flames, the-"

"Carlos!"

Carlos looked down at Cecil's mildly worried face. "Is something wrong? What was I saying?"

"Nothing's wrong," said Cecil, evenly. "Keep looking at me. Don't look up."

This was obviously Carlos' cue to look up, but he resisted the temptation. He had learned that when a Night Vale local told you not to do something - especially when it was Cecil doing the telling - it was probably a good idea to listen.

"Okay," he said instead. "Thanks for looking out for me Cecil, you're a good dog."

Cecil gave a full-body shiver, the leash jingling against his collar, and the worry dropped away from his face. Carlos bent over so that he could pet Cecil with both hands, rubbing his ears, scratching his chin, until Cecil was pawing at his knees, his eyes half-closed with pleasure. Carlos couldn't remember why he would want to look up, not when he could look at Cecil.

"I wish I had a mirror, or a camera." Carlos' glasses were slipping down his nose, and he nudged them back up with his wrist before tickling under Cecil's chin. "You look amazing Cecil, you ought to see this."

Cecil didn't say anything, just tipped his head back to give Carlos better access to his throat. Carlos knew that Cecil avoided mirrors out of deference to his mother's memory, and that he could only appear on film once every seven years. But still, Carlos wanted to share this sight with someone, with his research team, with the academic community (paper title: 'The Effects of Cervical Restraint on the Appearance of my Boyfriend'). With Night Vale itself, which led back to his original thought, which he hadn't gotten to finish.

"I'd like," said Carlos, "to show you off in public. Go for a walk." He tugged the leash in emphasis, and Cecil jerked forward, his lips parting, his breath coming in audible pants.

"You'd follow behind me, coming to heel like a good boy," continued Carlos, and then stopped, running out of words. He didn't know how to say what he wanted, because he didn't even know what he wanted.

"I could protect you," said Cecil, quietly, as if his voice was coming from a long way away. "From Telly, and Steve Carlsberg, and anyone who looked at you the wrong way, anyone who might harm a perfect, beautiful hair on your perfect, beautiful head, I could bite them-"

"No biting," said Carlos, sharply. "Good dogs don't bite."

Cecil whined, pressing his face into Carlos' leg, and Carlos relented. "You could growl at them," he suggested. "And I'd tug on your leash while you stood and growled, and they'd know that if you weren't collared, if I weren't holding you, that you would tackle them to the ground, and, uh,"

"My claws sunk into their chests," murmured Cecil. His eyes were almost entirely black, the pupil eclipsing not only his iris but even the whites of his eyes. "My fangs ripping at their faces, their blood hot and rich on my tongue, if only you would unclip the leash and let me-"

"Cecil, no." Carlos jerked the leash, trying to pull Cecil back to reality. " _Heel_."

Cecil shuddered, blinking, and when he looked up at Carlos again his eyes were still hazy but they looked mostly human again. 

"Sorry," he said. "It's just that time of the month, you know, when the bloodstone circles have been singing their songs of hunger and sacrifice, and you start to think that ripping out someone's jugular is actually a really good idea."

"Every time I get near one of the bloodstone circles, it blows up my ohmmeter," said Carlos. "Literally blows it up. I didn't think things like that happened outside of movies. It might be the electrical field reacting to the battery, I suppose, or maybe- Are you listening to me, Cecil?"

"Always," said Cecil, who had obviously not been listening. "Always, even when I sleep. Carlos, has anyone ever told you that when you start talking about science things, your right eye develops the most adorable and perfect twitch?"

Carlos rubbed instinctively at his eye. "No one's told me that before. I think it probably didn't happen before I came to Night Vale."

"Night Vale changes us all, in mysterious and often unwelcome ways." Cecil spoke in his broadcasting voice, smooth and calm, probably recalling a quote from a previous show or a press release. Then he rose up a little on his knees, voice becoming more excited and slightly higher-pitched. "So, about that walk, it sounds neat. Where else would we go?"

Carlos laughed. "I don't know - I guess we could go to a dog park, maybe throw a ball around-"

"No." Cecil clutched at Carlos. "We can't, we can't go to the dog park. There are no dogs allowed in the dog park-"

"I don't want to shatter the illusion," said Carlos, as he tried to pry Cecil's fingers from his knee, "but you're not actually a dog, Cecil."

"There are no _people_ allowed in the dog park," insisted Cecil. "Tell me you haven't been thinking about the dog park, Carlos, tell me it isn't too late."

"I was just wondering why I haven't seen anyone in the dog park except for hooded figures, even after Poetry Week." Carlos succeeded in freeing his knee. "Why everyone in Night Vale turns their face away from its walls, and why no one will tell me anything about the dog park when I ask."

"Because it's _forbidden_ and we don't want to be _reeducated_." Cecil rolled his eyes. "Carlos, _dear_ Carlos, you are perfect and beautiful and I could get lost in your eyes for centuries, until my bones turn to dust and blow away in the breeze of your breath, but you can be just a little obtuse sometimes."

Carlos raised his eyebrows. "Obtuse?"

"Maybe not obtuse." Cecil tugged at his collar. "Oh, I can't think, how embarrassing - what's the word that means 'extraordinarily intelligent and devoted to the fickle spirit of scientific inquiry, but ignorant of the demands of modern municipal government'?"

"I don't think there is a word for that," said Carlos.

"There's a word for everything, if you can just make the right humming noise in the back of your throat," said Cecil. "Is it hrlythrep? Gnrtylknop? Vstlrinfi? Oh, it's on the tip of my tongue."

"Forget the dog park," said Carlos, because he could feel control of the conversation slipping away from him, and he was supposed to be in charge tonight. "We could go out to the dunes and throw a frisbee or, um, just run around until we got tired and fell together onto the sand, and maybe we could make out? Under the stars and the spy satellites you were telling me about yesterday?" Carlos faltered, aware that his haphazard attempts at dirty talk (not even dirty talk, not quite, just slightly soiled talk) were falling on deaf ears. Cecil's forehead was creased, and he was still muttering arcane syllables to himself.

"Bfrandrki," announced Cecil, at last.

"What does that mean?" asked Carlos.

Cecil flushed, warmth spreading across his cheeks. "Lots of things. I couldn't think of a word that encompassed everything about you, so I had to invent one. Please don't tell anyone - I never completed my English degree, so technically I'm not authorized to create new words."

"Bfrandrki," said Carlos, trying to shape his tongue around the proliferation of consonants. "Sorry, I'm probably screwing up the pronunciation."

"It sounds perfect when you say it," reassured Cecil. "Although you should roll the 'r's a little more, if you want to be perfectly accurate."

"Tell me what it means?" asked Carlos, again, and when Cecil still balked, "you don't have to, but I'd like to know, and I won't make fun of you or anything."

"It's just, you know," said Cecil, hesitantly, but then speeding up so his words ran together, "it's the word for intelligence and ignorance of the demands of modern municipal government, etc etc, but it's also the word for the warm feeling in the pit of your stomach when you see someone across the street and you don't even need to talk to them to feel happy, you feel happy just knowing that they exist in the world and you exist in the world and you're existing together; and it's the word for how it feels when you've wanted something for a very very long time and you're given it as a surprise, and how it feels when you've got everything you want and then you find out that you can have even more, if you just ask. And there's also a bit in there about beautiful perfect hair that you should never _ever_ cut, Carlos, because I think you would look _amazing_ with it long and you could pull it into a ponytail when you needed it out of the way for work, and-"

"Oh my god, Cecil." Carlos put his hand over Cecil's mouth. "I- I want to make up a word for you, but I don't think there are any words for what you are to me."

Cecil sighed, leaning into Carlos' touch. His eyes drifted closed, and Carlos imagined/hallucinated that he could see Cecil's nonexistent tail wagging again.

"Come up in the armchair with me." Carlos tipped Cecil's chin up with one hand, tugged on his leash with the other, and Cecil's eyes fluttered open again.

"I'm not allowed on the furniture," he said, with one hand already on the seat cushion.

"If I'm in charge, I can change the rules." Carlos shifted to the side a little, pressing his back against the armrest, and patted the seat. "Come on, boy, up."

Cecil didn't need any more prompting before he scrambled up into the armchair, almost kneeing Carlos in the chest before he settled down, half on the seat and half in Carlos' lap. It wasn't a perfect fit - Cecil was taller than Carlos, and he had to curl uncomfortably in order to sit on Carlos' lap without looming over him. It wasn't a very big armchair, either, and it groaned at having to bear the weight of two fully-grown men. Actually groaned, like an elderly woman who has just been asked to carry an anvil up six flights of stairs. Carlos tried to ignore it, which wasn't hard when Cecil's body was pressed against his, and became even easier when Cecil started kissing him, warm and passionate and _earnest_. Carlos wrapped the leash around his hand, again and again, until his knuckles were brushing against Cecil's collar. It was definitely red, now, but Carlos was having a lot of trouble working up interest in anything besides Cecil's mouth. He would write abstracts, papers, books about that mouth. There was still slack in the shortened leash, because Cecil never tried to pull back, and Carlos slipped two fingers under the collar to tug Cecil further towards him, closer and closer until they completely lost their balance and tipped themselves over the armrest, out of the chair, and into a heap on the floor.

Carlos started laughing. Cecil made a noise that sounded like a mortified grackle. The chair sighed with relief.

"I am _so_ sorry," began Cecil, but Carlos waved a hand, no big deal.

His glasses had fallen off, making Cecil's living room fuzzy and soft-edged. Cecil's face was a light-brown blob above the red line of the collar, becoming more or less distinct as Cecil crawled around the room, looking for something. Carlos couldn't think of any reason to get up from the floor, so he just watched Cecil or stared up at the ceiling. There was a weird black rectangle on Cecil's ceiling, and Carlos got the feeling that he wasn't supposed to be looking at it.

"Here," said Cecil at last, offering Carlos his glasses. Carlos folded them up and put them in his shirt pocket.

"Lie here with me." Carlos caught hold of the leash and gave it a gentle tug. "Close, where I can see your face."

Cecil's lips curved into a smile that seemed much too wide, seemed to stretch from ear to ear, but Carlos couldn't see properly at the moment so it was probably a perfectly ordinary smile. Then Cecil stretched out next to him, his head on Carlos' shoulder. His tail thumped at the carpeted floor, a muted beat of happiness.

"I like this," said Carlos. "We should do it again."

"Really?" Cecil pressed his snout into Carlos' neck. "You don't think it's too weird?"

"This is pretty much the most normal thing I've done all week," said Carlos, which was either a reflection on the oddity of his week or on the fact that he had kept Cecil on a leash for the better part of an hour and they hadn't gotten around to much more than heavy petting. Carlos reconsidered his options on sexy wrestling. Probably no one would get hurt.

It went very well, up until Cecil forgot himself and did strangle him a little. But Cecil was very apologetic afterwards and Carlos actually thought that he might be interested in breath play.

"Oh, good!" said Cecil. "I have a lot of experience in not strangling people to death. We can do that next week instead of the seismology thing. Also, can I- Carlos, this is very forward of me, but do you mind if I hump your leg?"

Carlos kissed him. It didn't seem possible to do anything else.

"Was that a yes?" gasped Cecil, after a minute or two or thirty. "I hope it was a yes because I'm so hard that I think I might actually die, but if it wasn't a yes then I could go take a break in the bathroom and-"

"It was a yes," said Carlos, and "good boy," and "my throat really hurts, did you give me bruises?" and Cecil smiled at him like he was the best and brightest thing in the universe.

Which, objectively, was definitely not true, but for a moment Carlos almost felt like it could be.

\---

After a while, Carlos put his glasses back on, cleaned up a bit, and unclipped the leash. Cecil didn't move at all, not even when Carlos put a washcloth down his pants, and his collar was bright shining red.

"That was black before," said Carlos.

"Mm?" Cecil opened one eye and tried to look down at the collar, but he (probably) couldn't see his own neck.

"You look pale." Carlos frowned. "I'm going to take off your collar, all right?"

"Mhm." Cecil closed his eyes again and tipped his head back.

Carlos unbuckled the collar. It slipped off easily enough, but underneath-

Carlos thought the bruises on Cecil's neck were probably his own fault, from tugging on the leash or the collar too much, but he refused to take credit for the puncture marks. There were eight of them, evenly spaced in a ring. Carlos turned the collar over in his hands, thoughtfully. It sloshed.

"Cecil," he said, "I think this collar has been stealing your blood."

"Oh?" Cecil curled up on his side, murmured "interesting!"

"I need you to stay awake for me." Carlos shook Cecil's shoulder. What did you do with blood loss victims? "I'm going to get you some juice, and-"

"There's V-8 in the fridge." Cecil opened both eyes, this time, looking blearily at a point about two feet above Carlos' head. "And a cow's heart."

"Don't go anywhere," said Carlos unnecessarily, Cecil didn't look like he could even stand, and ran for the kitchen. There was indeed a single-serving bottle of V-8 in the fridge, along with a paper-wrapped package that was seeping blood. Carlos hesitated, and then grabbed them both.

Back in the living room, he helped Cecil sit up, helped him to drink, and then unwrapped the cow's heart. Cecil looked better now, able to eat without assistance and apologetically wipe smears of blood from his face.

"Did you _know_ this was going to happen?" asked Carlos. 

"Not exactly," said Cecil, his mouth full. Carlos had to look away - he wasn't squeamish, but, well. He was a little squeamish. "The label on the collar said that it might try to feed once out of every five uses, on average, so I thought - better be prepared, you know, just in case."

"We're getting you a new collar," said Carlos. He risked looking at Cecil, but it was fine, the heart was gone and Cecil was just licking his fingers and pouting.

"But now it's safe for approximately four more uses," pointed out Cecil. "It would be such a waste to just give up on it, and it's such a _nice_ collar-"

"We're getting you a new collar," insisted Carlos. "Even if I have to make it myself."

"Oh!" Cecil's face lit up (though he was still too pale), and he leaned forward (though he wobbled a little), and he smiled a bright, happy smile (though his teeth were stained brown-red). "Really?"

"Sure," said Carlos. He'd made a bracelet from parachute cord at a summer camp once, and dog collars probably weren't that much harder. "A scientist should be able to provide for his partner."

Cecil kissed him, forgetting himself enough to bury his fingers in Carlos' hair. Carlos tried to ignore the taste of Cecil's mouth, to ignore the gurgling noise coming from the discarded collar, to ignore the way that his glasses were getting squashed against the bridge of his nose, just ignore all of that and enjoy being here, with Cecil.

It was actually pretty easy.


End file.
